Happiness is a Yellow Kitchen
by Soleya
Summary: He'd told her he'd be there for her - always - and he'd meant it.  Missing scene to Threads.


Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own anything. And this time, I'm returning them completely unharmed. I swear.

This story was inspired almost solely by "Drive" by The Cars. As always, thanks to my betas, Polrobin and Sammie77, for telling me I don't suck. Maybe this will encourage me to finish my Thanksgiving thing sometime before the new year.

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Happiness is a Yellow Kitchen

A death on the base, of course, was a metric ton of paperwork – especially when it involved an alien entity. Under normal circumstances, Jack would have put off dealing with it as long as possible, finally rushing through it all in the privacy of his office, but this... These were not normal circumstances.

The body of Jacob Carter lay across the room, a single white sheet draped over it. At his bedside, with more than her own fair share of paperwork on a clipboard, sat his daughter. Her eyes were dry, her face composed enough to satisfy the nursing staff, but it wasn't nearly enough to fool Jack. He could see it: the white of her knuckles from her death-grip on the clipboard, the way the pen shook, the fast tap of her shoe against the concrete. She'd shut down all the outward signs of grief but was boiling inside, bubbling up like a shaken soda ready to explode.

And he absolutely intended to be there when she did.

"General."

Jack appreciated the fact that Sergeant Harriman kept his voice low, away from the ears of the grieving woman, and answered in kind. "Yeah."

"We just received word from Teal'c and Master Bra'tac's fleet at Tartarus, sir."

"Yeah?"

The sergeant glanced awkwardly across the room as Carter pushed to her feet and called the nurse. "Here, sir?" Walter asked, uncertain.

Well, he sure wasn't leaving. "Just keep your voice down."

"Yes, sir."

But whatever the man said next, Jack missed it completely as the nurse flipped through the stack of papers on the clipboard. The colonel waited, the foot still tapping as she impatiently chewed a thumb nail. Her whole body practically vibrated until the nurse said, "I'm sorry, Colonel. There's more on the back."

She blinked twice, fast, and took the papers back. "Sorry."

"Can I get you anything, ma'am? Water, or-"

With a quick shake of her head, she retreated to the chair.

"Sir?"

Walter had stopped talking, Jack realized, and cleared his throat. "Yeah. Say that again?"

"They've broken through the base's defenses, sir, but they didn't find anything."

"Anything?" Jack's eyebrow rose.

"No, sir. Teal'c thinks it was a ruse to draw the rebel Jaffa troops out-"

"And leave Dakara exposed." The acid in his stomach roiling, he turned his full attention to the sergeant.

"Yes, sir."

"Round up the marines," Jack ordered tersely, "and all the combat teams we've got. Send them in waves, if you have to, but I want boots on the ground ASAP."

"Yes, sir."

"If Anubis gets his hands on that weapon..." Things would get very bad, indeed. And it all couldn't happen at a worse time. Casting a glance back toward Jacob's bed, he ordered, "And set up a call with the president. I need to... Wait. Where'd she go?"

The chair beside the bed was empty.

"Hey!" Walter caught the clipboard that Jack shoved his way as he stalked down the nurse. "Hey. Where'd Carter go?"

"She left, sir," the woman answered simply.

"And went were?"

She shrugged. "Home, I think."

The acid kicked up another notch, making him feel distinctly ill. "Did you get her a driver?"

"She didn't want one, sir."

Jack swore, snapping "she doesn't get off this base" at Walter as he stalked for the exit. The woman was grieving, still in shock, at wit's end, and driving was the last thing she needed to be doing. He spent the elevator ride to the surface picturing her car twisted in a ravine below one of the mountain roads, or in the midst of some horrific highway accident, and he took the corridor to the exit at the fastest pace he could still call walking.

The timing of all this couldn't be crappier, he thought. With Janet gone and Teal'c at the other end of the galaxy and Daniel... off... somewhere – again – Jack was left to deal with the fallout. Which would be fine... if things between them weren't so damn awkward. And if the planet wasn't at stake.

He caught sight of her halfway through the parking level. Head down and making good time, she couldn't see the SF moving to intercept her – Walter, as usual, had been efficient. "Sergeant," Jack called, then shook his head at the man; now that he'd found her, he'd handle it himself.

She didn't even seem to hear him, and he picked up the pace, falling into stride maybe twenty feet from her car. "Carter."

She charged ahead.

"Carter, wait."

That merely earned him a quick shake of her head. By the time they were even with her trunk, he saw no option but to grab her arm. "Hey. Hang on a second."

"Let me go," she breathed, trying to wrestle from his grasp while keeping her face turned away. "Please. I need to go."

"I know." But he could hear the tears in her voice. "Just give it a second, okay? You shouldn't drive so upset."

"Please." That time she was successful in wresting her arm away and hurrying for the door. "I can't..."

He realized it mere seconds before she did, as her hand automatically went for the purse that wasn't at her side. In her agitated state, she'd neglected to get her keys.

"God," she gasped, frantically sucking in air in an attempt to hold back the rising tide of emotion. "Oh, God."

Once more he wished for Daniel, Teal'c... anyone. She needed to get away from it all, he knew – from her father's body and the men who'd never seen her cry. He, on the other hand, needed to call the president, to brief the men going to Dakara, to be in charge of the situation.

He needed to stay on base just as badly as she needed to leave.

He wrestled with that, watching her try to hide her slow implosion for a minute before he said, "Come on. I'll drive."

The shake of her head was interrupted by a poorly concealed sob that turned it to a nod. Gently taking her arm again, he fished the keys from his pocket and led her to his truck.

Getting off the base was good for her. She cranked down the window to a brisk wind that ruffled Jack's sleeves and gave him goosebumps, but Carter merely breathed it in, eyes closed. Slowly, her breathing calmed, her body relaxed into the seat.

Still, it was a while before she spoke. "I don't want to go home."

"Then where-"

"I don't know," she interrupted softly. "Just drive."

"Okay." He'd been heading for the city, anyway, so merely detoured a little bit west into the mountains. The range north of Cheyenne had become a favorite hiding spot of his over the last few years – no people, no cell phone service. And it was a beautiful drive.

The path he took off the main road earned a curious look from Carter and made him glad they'd taken the truck. It was a steep, rocky climb that pushed the vehicle nearly to its limit, but it would make it – it had done so countless times before. And when the grade leveled off, he pulled the parking brake and killed the engine.

Silent, she stepped out of the truck and headed for the edge of the plateau. Jack dug a jacket from the back seat before joining her, draping it gently over her shoulders; the ghost of a smile he got as she pulled it closer was more than enough to keep him warm.

"It's beautiful," she said softly.

"Yeah." The mountains stretched as far as they could see to the north, dipping into tree-lined valleys full of tiny lakes. And no civilization in sight.

They stood in silence for a long while, merely taking in the atmosphere and fresh air. And then, from nowhere, she asked, "Has she been to your cabin?"

"No." Kerry was out of the picture entirely, after their awkward conversation in his office, but there didn't seem to be a graceful way to tell Carter that. While he had a pretty decent inkling of what she'd wanted to tell him on his back deck that day, he couldn't be certain. It would be a pretty crappy subject to bring up half an hour after she'd lost her father – especially if he was wrong. As far as he knew, she was still engaged.

Only when the quiet became excruciating did he say, "So. House, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Nice place?"

He'd thought it was a pretty simple question, but it was a long moment before she shrugged. "The kitchen isn't yellow."

"Well, you know, small favors." He couldn't think of a worse color.

But she shook her head. "When I imagined it, it was always yellow."

"Ah." Whoops. "Yellow, huh?"

"The house in Virginia had a yellow kitchen," she explained quietly, staring out over the valley. "It's the first house I remember. It was her favorite room, and Dad would bring her flowers from the white dogwood tree down the street. There were vases everywhere – the table, the counters, the baker's rack. She loved them." Tugging the jacket a little tighter, she added wistfully, "They were so happy there."

"Happiness isn't a paint color, Carter."

She gave a humorless laugh. "Turns out happiness isn't a lot of things I thought it was."

Jack blinked, surprised. A comment like that just begged him to pry, but that was awfully shaky ground. Uncertain, he said nothing, plunging them back into the awkward quiet.

Again, it was Carter who broke it. "Do you believe in heaven?"

"Yes." When her head whipped over, he asked, "What? Not the answer you expected?"

"Not so quickly, at least."

He shrugged. "I think there comes a point where you have to."

Considering that a moment, she turned back to the mountains. "I think I want to," she murmured. "I want to believe there's a place for them. For Janet. For Daniel."

Daniel wasn't dead, but he didn't bother to correct her. "There is. With all the medical toys you could ever want to play with. And baseball diamonds – lots of them – so you never have to wait to play catch with your kid. And a big old house with a yellow kitchen."

He would swear that the twitch in her cheek was a tiny smile. With one last glance around, she shrugged off the jacket and handed it to him. "I'm ready."

The ride back to the base was silent but for the incessant chirping of Jack's cell phone as he re-entered the service area. There would be fallout for leaving, he knew – but he'd told her he would always be there for her, and he'd meant it.

No matter what. And so, when he pulled into his parking spot and she reached for the door handle, he tapped the 'lock' button to keep her in. "Carter," he said, "you can always paint the kitchen."

She glanced at the door, her hands, the dash – anywhere but at him – for a long moment. In one smooth motion, she unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped out. "Actually," she murmured, staring somewhere near the floorboard, "I'm not sure I can."

The door closed with a thunk, leaving a surprised and confused Jack O'Neill inside. Before he could follow her, his cell phone rang again, and he grabbed for it. "O'Neill."

"I've been trying to get ahold of you, sir," Sergeant Harriman's voice echoed back. "We were unable to establish a wormhole to Dakara. The attack may already be underway."

"Understood. I'll be there in two minutes. Hey, Walter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Make a note for Jacob's funeral. Dogwood."

"Sir?"

"The flowers, Walter. White ones."

There was the tiniest of pauses. "Isn't that tree, sir?"

"Hell if I know."

"Yes, sir."

Jack stuck the phone back in his pocket and got out of the truck. Locking it, he headed back into the SGC, prepared to coordinate the end of all life as he knew it.


End file.
